


Charges

by chromatoria



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hannibal is a Douchebag, M/M, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromatoria/pseuds/chromatoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a panic attack brought on by overstimulation and calls Hannibal for help. Hannibal is a douchebag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charges

The bed is hard and cold. Will had been there for years, and there had never been a time when the bed was not hard and cold. He was under a thin grey blanket that didn't do much against the unseasonably cool summer night, as he idly connected imperfections in the wood on at the ceiling. He had been doing this for a while.

Will sighs, a long, exasperated exhale through his nose, and sits up. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lets them hang over, slowly adjusting to being vertical. The clock read 5:14. Will had tried to go to sleep at 3. He rubs his face in his hands, reconciling with the fact that tonight had become today, and today did not have time for sleeping. He sighs again, puts on his glasses, and got off his bed.

Only Winston is awake. He raised his eyes balefully at Will as Will walked, and was hushed with a soothing sound as Will carefully left the room. He sat hunched over in the sofa across the fireplace, rubbing his eyes.

His house smells like thirty dogs and the muted smell of Febreeze trying to cover that. Normally he can handle it, normally he can tune out the things he doesn't need to see or smell or sense, but today started with no sleep at all and birds that were far too happy for 5 o'clock in the morning.

He ran out of aspirin an hour ago.

Winston had followed him out to the couch, and Will scratches his head softly. "Well," he tells the dog, "Looks like I'm heading to work early today."

Will barely makes it to the office, scrapes his way through a briefing, flounders through interaction. Everything becomes too saturated, and Will attempts to order everything, but today is stoutly Not Agreeing.

The effects of his last aspirin have almost faded.

He begins to panic while sitting alone in his classroom, after an early dismissal accompanied with a taut smile. The carpet is suddenly overwhelming. He tries to focus on it-the pattern of the shag surface, the frayed ends of it, how it hadn't been cleaned in a while because it had so much dirt-but other things seep in. He can't focus on one thing. Everything starts to clutter around him, and it surrounds him.

Then there is suddenly too much with far too many smells overpowering him with waves of floor cleaner and squeaky burnt rubber soles and there are too many sounds with people talking to each other in shouting voices and armies of copiers spitting out paper with hisses and the galloping of a secretary's bored fingernails on the desk and

Will slams his hand on the table, a gunshot to quiet his ears. He bites his tongue and focuses as much as he possibly can at the pain of it, and stands up sharply, the chair scraping back so harshly he flinches. He can't bear anything, and steps out of the room with heavy enough footsteps to rattle his spine, quick enough to give him vertigo.

He finds the closest bathroom, and on a shred of a thought, shoves a "closed for maintenance" sign in front of the door and closes himself into the opposite stall from it. He calls the only person he can think of at the moment.

The ringing sounds are like sirens, and Will cringes.

"Hello?"

Hannibal's voice is normally oh so smooth, all velvet and spiced chocolate, but now it grates on Will's ears like gravel.

"Shush, just, don't talk, I need you to help me, there's too much of it right now, please- " His own voice sounds pleading and exhausted and very much like a dog when it whimpers.

Hannibal makes Will curl up against the toilet by not listening and interrupting. "There's too much of what, Will?"

Will blinks to clear up his eyes as he whispers, "Everything. There's too many sounds and smells and it hurts, just please," his voice breaks and he has to blink harder now, "please just help."

The phone disconnects and Will tries very hard to stop breathing.

\---

Dr. Lecter knows exactly where Will would hide. He doesn't bother with telling Crawford he's at the BAU, and instead opts to finding the bathrooms, spotting a sign in front of one and making his way towards it, eventually entering. Hannibal keeps the door from shutting too loud, and looks at the floor in disdain. He won't be taking off his shoes to be quiet, not here.

Instead he walks across the checkered floors with barely muted footsteps, intuitively moving to the farthest corner of the room.

The door is not locked, as Hannibal predicted, and he looks apathetically at the shivering mess curled up against the toilet. Will is quaking, sweating through his clothes, tufts of toilet paper jammed into his ears and his hands clamped tightly against his eyes.

Hannibal reaches out and thoughtfully places a hand between Will's shoulder blades and rubs slightly. Will startles, then melts against the contact. Dr. Lecter reaches into his pocket with his other hand and offers the object he pulls out to Will.

"Will," Hannibal says softly. Will spreads his fingers the tiniest bit, and spots the proffered item- bright orange earplugs. He takes them with a tiny nod and removes the toilet paper in favor of the earplugs.

Hannibal has not stopped rubbing Will's spine. He observes Will's actions carefully, and very slowly Will stops shaking. His eyes are still covered by his hands, and his breathing is still semi-erratic. He leans into Hannibal's hand heavily, and removes his hands in favor of closing his eyes, tilting his head upwards. Hannibal's hand is warm against Will's back, and Will breathes thin air through his mouth.

When Hannibal removes his hand, Will looks slightly shocked. At the loss of contact, Hannibal supposes, and how much he needed the contact. This was no surprise to Hannibal; he knew that Will needed to be grounded in times of panic, and touch was the fastest way to establish a connection. Hannibal looks at Will, and wordlessly hands him the handkerchief out of his breast pocket. Will takes it with a nod--he flinches--and wipes his face.

Hannibal walks a few steps towards the row of sinks, and begins to talk. "You have just had a panic attack brought on by overstimulation. Issues with overstimulation in your line of work are common, and considering your," Hannibal looks at Will shortly before continuing, "gift, a surety." He runs the tap and reaches into his pocket again. "Especially in consideration with the case you've been struggling with." He stretches out his hand to Will, and the two aspirin on his palm are absolutely heavenly. Hannibal smiles without amusement and concludes, "You have been dealing with these sort of issues ever since you were a child. However, your employment with the BAU has always triggered more panic attacks, although you don't want Crawford or Doctor Bloom to know."

Will takes the aspirin with a still-shaky hand. "That wasn't a part of my profile." He smiles wanly and downs the aspirin, bending over to the tap to gulp some water down. Hannibal observes silently. Will looks up and gives another tight smile before hunching over the sink. "Wonder how much profiling you've been doing in your spare time." The line sounds like it could be a joke but instead falls humorless and flat.

Hannibal smiles ever-so-pleasantly and does not reply.

\---

Will Graham had always been something of a plaything to Hannibal. An experiment of sorts, an exploration into the fragility of the human mind, more of a possession, that was how Hannibal thought of Will Graham.

Will Graham's mental state had been rapidly deteriorating, and it was very obvious to everyone involved that he needed someone to turn to. Graham was a natural submissive, and Hannibal a born dominant.

The two came together like shards of glass, like bones and sinew; beautiful in their delicate balance and calculated friendship.

\---

He wakes up in the middle of the street a block away, someone tugging on his shoulder, hearing like he's underwater.

He wakes up outside to the bite of frost on the wind. His bed feels like a stranger's and so does his house and so does his mind and so does he.

He wakes up and he is not even sure if he is awake.

He finally wakes up.

\---

When Will Graham was admitted into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane the world was watching through thin television screens and absentminded interest; another looney in the bin to them, but an enigma to a select few. Will knows which people are watching, and he knows he receives reams of letters from single women asking to take him to dinner and psychologists eager to analyze him and plain citizens demanding for Will the chair; from his singular seat in the aged jail cell, he considers the irony of being so wanted in such an undesirable place.

Smiling wanly at the floor, he plans with an implacable, calculated anger.


End file.
